


Candles

by Lakritzwolf



Series: Kink Bingo 2017 [2]
Category: Desperate Romantics, When Love Comes Along (1998)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Candles, M/M, Nude Modeling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 14:46:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10414530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakritzwolf/pseuds/Lakritzwolf
Summary: Written for the Kink Bingo hosted by Gathering FiKi on tumblr. Simply a brilliant idea. Five kinks, five pairings, five times fun.Part two: Candles





	

“Are you okay?”

Mark arranged himself on the ottoman and nodded. 

“Not too cold?”  
“Nah, it’s fine.”

“Okay,” Dante said and headed back to his easel. “You just say if you start freezing. I got a little fan heater here.”  
“It’s okay.” Mark smiled and shuffled. “Like this?”  
Dante looked over again and tucked a few curls behind one ear. “Perfect.”

As Dante began choosing various tubes of paint to arrange dabs of them on his palette, Mark had a look around in the tiny studio. Shoddy, wobbly shelves crammed with art supplies lined the walls, filled with jars of brushes of all sizes and shapes, boxes full of tubes of pain, ranging from full to almost empty, cans of pain, sketchpads and pencils and charcoal pencils. Pictures covered every available surface, paintings, prints, posters, together with newspaper clippings and postcards. It was chaos, but a well organized chaos. 

Dante turned around and smiled again, then his smile turned into a frown.

“Am I doing this wrong?” Mark asked, sounding worried.  
“No...” Dante looked around and tapped his chin. “The lighting’s not right.”

He tossed Mark the towel again before he began to open various cupboard doors. Mark took it to cover himself. 

“Sorry, this doesn’t work if...” Dante vanished half under a shelf and cursed when he banged his head.  
“You okay?”  
“Yes.” Dante crawled out again holding a large, flat box in one hand while rubbing the back of his head with the other. 

He was what he called a ‘classical artist’, which to him meant he worked only with the classic medium of canvas and oil, maybe acrylic colours if he was feeling adventurous, and brushes made of wood and natural hair. He had the look to match his old-fashioned style: an untamed mass of dark curls that hung down to his shoulders and sideburns that, together with his habit of wearing puffy-sleeved shirts, gave him the appearance of someone having stumbled right out of the Elizabethan era.

Mark on the other hand was just a student who was always broke, and modelling for art classes was an easy way to earn some bucks. So when he had read the advert in the paper of someone needing a model, he hadn’t needed to think twice. He didn’t mind lounging naked on an ottoman for a few hours, not if the room temperature was right, and he could use the time to work on the lyrics of his new song. 

Now he arranged the towel on his lap again with a bemused little smile and watched Dante putter around.

“What are you doing?”  
“I need better light.” Dante rummaged around in a few drawers. “Fucking damnit!”  
Mark sat up again. “What?”  
“I can’t find a lighter!”

Mark chuckled and got up, wrapped the towel around his hips and headed towards the door and the coat rack. He dug into the pocket of his jacket and tossed Dante a lighter.

“Thanks.” Dante grinned and shut the drawer. “I need to unclutter this place.”  
“You wouldn’t find shit anymore if you do that. Just buy a new lighter.”  
“I bought ten lighters in the last months.”  
Mark grinned and sat down again. “It’s like with socks. They just vanish.”  
“And come back as spare Tupperware lids,” Dante chuckled and opened the box he had produced earlier. It was full of tea lights.  
“That explains a lot,” Mark said with a grin and pulled up one leg. 

Dante grinned and winked, and for a second, their eyes met. Then Dante looked hastily away and busied himself with the candles. Mark lowered his eyelids, but said nothing.

Dante now went ahead and positioned candles on various surfaces, and every time he had lit a few he looked back at Mark with a deep frown. 

“Can you arrange yourself again, please?”

Mark nodded, dropped the towel and stretched out on the ottoman again. Dante narrowed his eyes and got three more candles that he placed next to two others on a sideboard. He added two more to another cluster on a shelf behind the ottoman. 

It took quite a while until Dante had finally lit the room to his satisfaction. It was now illuminated by dozens of small dancing flames, and the whole room was filled with a restless but warm orange light. 

“Okay,” Dante said and sat down on a small stool. He took his sketchbook and flipped through the pages. He frowned at each drawing, different positions of his model, to decide which one he should put down in oil. 

Then he put it down again on the shelf next to the easel.

“Okay, can we...” Dante walked over to Mark on the ottoman again and pointed at the sketch. “You were on your back and...”

Mark looked at the sketch as well and nodded. He turned onto his back and stretched out, letting one leg hang down while the other was pulled slightly up. One arm hung down as well and the other was tucked under his head.

“Like that?”

Nude modelling had taken a bit getting used to, but by now Mark wasn’t fussed anymore about anything. Like this, he was totally exposed, but he couldn’t say he cared.

Dante now gave his body a critical once-over and took a step back. 

“Perfect,” he said then. “Just look at those shadows...”

Mark smiled and lowered his eyelids. 

“Do not move.”  
“Doing my best.”

Dante took his sketchbook and a piece of charcoal and began to outline the pose on the canvas. Then he had to replace a few dabs of pain and with his palette in hand, he let his eyes roam Mark’s body again.

“Beautiful,” he muttered and lifted his brush. 

Mark opened his eyes with a chuckle.

Dante froze. 

The restless light cast Mark’s body in warm orange hues, making his skin look as if it was gold and his hair as if it was made of fire. Dark shadows danced across his skin, as if beckoning Dante to explore their secrets. 

Mark lowered his eyelids. “Like what you see?”  
“Perfection,” Dante muttered and stared at the easel. 

For a while there was just silence, and the pattering of the rain on the skylight. It was dark outside, and the raindrops creeping down the glass pane reflected the golden light as well, a myriad of tiny, shimmering pearls. 

“Uh...” Mark shifted. “Sorry to ruin the mood, but I have to pee.”  
“No worries.” Dante put his brush and palette down. “You know the way.”

Mark got up and slipped into his bathrobe, and vanished out of the door. 

Dante stared at the sketchbook with a sigh. He had countless drawings of this man, his body, his hands, his face, his smile... and those god-damn dimples that were the death of him. He had no idea how he would be able to paint those and do them justice. 

The door opened and Mark came back, shrugged off the bathrobe and headed back to the ottoman, completely at ease in his skin. He settled down with a sigh. 

“Like this?”

Dante looked at his easel and back at Mark. “The left leg a bit more up.”  
“Like this?”  
“Yes, and now the arm up... no, the other one.”

Mark shuffled around on the ottoman and tried to follow instructions. After a moment, Dante put his palette down and walked over. 

“This arm,” he said and gently took Mark’s left arm. “Just let it hang down, like this. And the other one...” 

Arranging the other arm under Mark’s head brought Dante into a very close proximity to Mark’s face. Mark lowered his eyelids. 

Ripples of orange and dark gold danced across Mark’s skin and reflected in his eyes. Hesitantly, Dante reached out and tucked one strand of Mark’s hair into place. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered.  
Mark chuckled softly. “Am I?”

Dante hastily straightened up and cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said and combed his hair back. “I was...”  
“Distracted?” Mark offered with a tiny smirk.  
“You could... say that.” Dante cleared his throat again and stepped towards his easel again. “Where were we?”

Mark stretched again, ruining the so carefully and painstakingly arranged pose. “We were at the part where it looked as if you were about to kiss me,” he purred.

Dante froze. Then he slowly turned around. 

Mark was draped across the ottoman in all his naked beauty, a dark smirk curling the corners of his perfect lips. The cluster of candles behind him on the sideboard almost gave the impression of a halo and only enhanced his angelic appearance. 

An appearance that didn’t fit at all with the dark come-hither look in his eyes.

Dante very slowly put his paintbrush down again and crossed his arms. 

“I can’t paint you like this,” he said in a smoky whisper.  
“Like what?” Mark asked, but his facial expression and the tone of his voice belied any attempts at playing innocent.  
“You know what I mean.” Dante stepped closer.  
“How about you cover it with something?”  
“And paint you pitching a tent under a layer of red silk?”  
Mark chuckled and dropped his head. “Or you could just... do something about it.”

Dante stepped closer, and the candles stirred and trembled as he passed them, making the light flicker and dance across Mark’s golden skin. He went down into a crouch in front of the ottoman. 

“Do something about it?” He muttered.  
“Or we could just stare at each other and wait for it to go away so you can go on,” Mark replied and reached out to toy with one of Dante’s unruly curls.  
Now it was Dante’s turn to chuckle. “And how much time do we have?”  
“I got nowhere to be,” Mark replied and let go of the curl to trace a finger down Dante’s cheek. 

Their eyes met, and after a few heartbeats, Dante leaned forward. They both closed their eyes and their lips met.

The pattering of the raindrops on the skylight was now accompanied by the occasional thunder, and the only other sounds were the soft moans of the two kissing men. 

Mark threaded the fingers of one hand into Dante’s hair and tugged him closer, and Dante rested one hand on Mark’s chest as he followed the tug without breaking the kiss. His hand roamed Mark’s chest and circled his navel, but came to a halt before it touched the triangle of springy curls.

Dante broke the kiss and leaned back, and the move created a tiny breeze that stirred the candle flames, their flickering light reflecting in Mark’s eyes and making him look as if his eyes were ablaze with fire. 

“You are so beautiful,” Dante whispered and trailed a finger down Mark’s cheek and along his jaw line. “You are perfection. Utter perfection.”

Mark turned his head and placed a kiss on the tip of Dante’s finger as it passed his lips. Dante smiled, and let his finger trail lower, down Mark’s throat and his chest, brushing over his right nipple, and lower, past the navel, and this time past the nest of sandy curls. The candles behind Mark illuminated his body and gave him a sheen of a golden aura, but this part lay hidden in an enticing, beckoning shadow. A gentle push to Mark’s hips and he turned onto his back, so the warm, golden light could reveal him in all his beautiful glory. 

“Beautiful,” Dante breathed on a soft sigh and leaned over Mark’s face again to kiss him. 

He trailed soft, light kisses down his throat and chest, and Mark’s hard breaths turned into soft moans as Dante let his lips travel lower and lower. 

Mark inhaled sharply when Dante stopped to nuzzle the tight, dark curls around the base of his cock, and his breath escaped him in a huff when Dante closed his fingers around it. The huff turned seamlessly into a moan when Dante now lowered his head with open lips.

Mark arched his back with another deep and low moan and dug both hands into Dante’s messy black curls. He turned his head this way and that, and with his next moan his breath stirred the air and made the candle flames on the sideboard next to him twitch. The shadows on the walls danced and trembled. Mark closed his eyes. 

Moments later he reared up again with a groan, and propping himself up on his hands he let his head drop back and stared open-mouthed at the sky-light, the shimmering raindrops and the reflection of the candles. He sank back again, seemingly boneless, as Dante slowly straightened up again. 

“Perfect,” he whispered as he looked down at Mark whose chest was heaving with slow, heavy breaths. “Perfect...” 

He almost jumped to his feet and hastily replaced the canvas on his easel with a blank one. Then he grabbed his palette and narrowing his eyes, he let his paintbrush dance across the canvas with his breath still coming hard and fast.

He called the painting _Sleeping Beauty_ , the image of a beautiful young man draped across an ottoman covered in red silk, wearing nothing but an angelic smile and golden hair curling around his face. His eyes were closed and his lips parted ever so slightly, and countless candles cast golden veils of light across his naked body. 

The picture sold for £7.000 at an art exhibition later that month. 

Dante invited Mark to a week’s holiday in Sicily, to give Mark the opportunity ‘to return the favour’. Mark accepted with a smile and a kiss.


End file.
